Nothing's Real
by ebec11
Summary: Harry becomes focused, obsessed, on his family on the other side. When Sirius dies, his reality and obsession collide. Dark themes, mental health issues, more warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

This is DEFINITELY very dark. I wish not to spoil this for the readers, however I need to make it clear that there will be graphic suicidal aspects within this story. There is going to be graphic self-harm as well, schizophrenia, depersonalization and other mental health issues. Really just a lot of dark twisted gory themes. PLEASE don't read if you're squeamish, or feel like there's a chance you will hurt yourself after reading this. I've been there before, and I would feel really badly if somebody hurt themselves because of my writing.

Can't promise I'll update regularly, I got the first 3 chapters done but I know my depression will spring up randomly. And when that happens, I lose all motivation to write. Updates will be slower too because I'm trying to tie this in to canon for as long as possible, though it's still clearly AU. Every fanfiction is AU though XD

Chapter 1

He felt himself distance himself as Sirius and Lupin tried to justify his father's behaviour to Snape. He was only fifteen. Everybody thought they were the height of cool, James was everything Snape wanted to be. It was all right that he was a bully, because he grew out of it.

But if that were the case, why would James rub it in Snape's face? Why would everybody just allow it? The students, the professor, hell Dumbledore just let it be. Why would his father do something like this? Harry felt his stomach swirl and twist with emotion, and he felt like he was going to be sick. He was Snape. James would have hated him, the freak.

"Not in Umbridge's office, no, not now." He whispered softly, he felt like he was breaking. He had to be the perfect godson, the perfect student, not, not, this…

"What's not now Harry?" Sirius asked, looking confused. Harry merely shook his head.

"I…I can't accept this." Harry whispered to them during a moment of silence. "I think I hate my father, how can I hate my father?" He whimpered softly, he dreamed of his parents for so long, wanted them to be so good, and now this. Now this. Tears ran down his face, and he just didn't want it to be real anymore.

"Harry, what's wrong? Talk to us, I know this must be hard, but your dad really was a good person." Professor Lupin asked, his face drawn in concern.

A red headed woman and a black haired man were sitting in front of him. Warmth, relaxing on a worn couch in a living room, Gryffindor colours - he felt like he was home.

"Kiddo, you're starting to freak me out right now! Talk to us!" Harry could barely hear Sirius; he just saw Mum and Dad.

Her hair flowed down her shoulders, the auburn colour gleaming in the light. Eyes shining, just like his, she reached out with her polished, manicured hand. The nails shined against the light brightly, and it hit his eye. The reflection flickered green and red, emerald and ruby, and he stumbled, trying to stay afoot.

"Mum? Dad?" He whispered softly, and he felt her brush his tears away. She was perfect.

"Harry! Snap out of it! Bloody hell, what's wrong with him?" He heard a distant voice, and he knew he should go back. But Dad was there. He was there, but he looked mad, disgusted. He cringed as he stormed over, waiting for the blow. Mum looked on sadly, and they faded. He begged for them to come back, even if Dad hated him. He screamed, screaming, for them, and his voice cracked. He just wanted him to be perfect, even if he could never live up to him. He knew he was a freak.

Instead, he found himself in Grimmauld Place, being shook by Sirius.

"You're out of it! What the hell was that? Oh thank Merlin, we really should get Dumbledore. Bloody hell, I'm drained, dammit, Hogwarts ward are fucking hard to mess with." Sirius was sweating profusely, his face an ashen white. Harry didn't really know what was going on, only that he wanted to be back with his mother again.

"I'm sorry?" Harry whispered, not really sure what to say. Lupin shakily led him away from the fireplace and onto the sofa. His voice cracked as he spoke.

"Harry, do you know where you are?" Lupin asked in a soothing voice, as if to a child. Harry knew he normally would mind, but he didn't really have the energy to fight it.

"I'm here, Sirius's house. But I need to go back there." He shook violently, this wasn't a dream, but what was it?

"No! No Harry, don't go back!" Sirius exclaimed, panting as he rushed to Harry's side. "I don't know where the bloody hell you went, but you need to be here, in the real world." Harry shook his head again, trying to rid himself of the fog in his head. He suddenly realized that he was supposed to be at Hogwarts.

"I'm not supposed to be here, I'm going to get in so much trouble!" Harry exclaimed, jumping up from the bed. Sirius fell over a bit, and ended up banging his head on the couch. Instead of exclaiming in pain however, he merely let out a sigh and started snoring lightly.

"Sirius is clearly drained, he used some grey magic to get you over here that he really shouldn't have. He'll hopefully sleep it off, but we're having Poppy sneak over here anyway, or at the least Dumbledore can check him out if she's swamped. I'm rambling, I was just so worried about you. Are you okay?" Harry nodded, and Lupin just sighed. "Let's move this to the kitchen before we wake him up. He really does need some sleep. And don't worry, we'll deal with Hogwarts later." Lupin dragged a still confused Harry towards the kitchen, where he motioned for Harry to sit down on a random chair while he made tea.

"Do you know what happened Harry?" Harry shook his head, trying to process the question. What did happen? It wasn't a dream, but it wasn't reality either. But it felt so real, and he wanted it to be real. Even if Dad was mad at him, he was still Dad. "I just don't know Harry, I've never seen something like that before. I know you have dreams, but you were awake…" Harry's mind started racing, he couldn't let them think that anything was wrong, more then normal anyway. He knew that this was bad, and they would force him back with Snape to get rid of this. But he couldn't let go of it; he wanted to see them so badly.

"I think I must have dozed off, I haven't been sleeping well lately. I-I was just dreaming of Lily and D-James, He keeps on sending me dreams of their d-death. Maybe I just like sleepwalking or something?" Harry stammered, his stomach wrenching from the lie. He grabbed the tea, and he forced his hands to stop shaking.

"Has S-Professor Snape not helped you at all? You really shouldn't be having these dreams at this point." Lupin asked, his face somewhat blank. Harry wondered if he was mad at him, he really should have tried harder at Occlumency. He shook his head, giving as much of a glare as he could possibly muster to get Lupin off the subject. It seemed to work, for the short term at least.

"Harry, we need to get Dumbledore. He's actually living in the guest bedro-" Harry cut Lupin off.

"What the bloody hell! Why is he here? Why isn't he down here checking on Sirius?" Harry yelled, looking over at Sirius's ghost-like face. Lupin shushed him while shaking his head.

"Let him sleep Harry!" He hissed, and Harry looked down, abashed. "Dumbledore's here, but he's in another section of the manor. He's trying to give us privacy while he takes refuge here. Aurors' don't know about this place, they can't catch him here." He paused as Harry shook harder. "Calm down Harry, it's alright." Harry inexplicably found himself in tears, he had no clue why he was so emotional all the sudden. "I just want Mum." He murmured softly, and Harry wondered if Lupin could hear him. "Harry, I-I'm going to get him now, I needed to make sure you're alright to be by yourself for a few minutes while I talk to him about this." Lupin gave Harry a quick hug - which felt really weird, and left Harry trembling - before rushing off. Harry sipped on the tea while trying to solidify the lie in his head. He hated this, but he had no choice. He wasn't letting go of Mum and Dad, in whatever form they showed up in.

Dumbledore rushed in, and Harry was startled by how human he looked. Although not as clearly shaken as Lupin was, his eyes weren't twinkling as he walked over to him. He was in what Harry gathered to be old-fashioned wizardry pyjamas, a half cloak half nightgown piece with glittering purple stars and pink moons.

"I'll just transfigure these, my boy, no need for you to be startled at my attire. Even I need to sleep sometimes." Dumbledore said in a cheerful voice as he turned the nightgown into a purely glittering purple and pink robe. "Might I have some tea?" Dumbledore asked jubilantly to Lupin, who merely nodded and flicked the stove on.

"I really should be back at Hogwarts, I'm sorry I made everybody worry." Harry mumbled, blushing lightly. "It was just a dream, I just fell asleep a bit quicker then usual. I'm tired I guess." Dumbledore's eyes still weren't twinkling, and Harry thought it was going to be a bit harder to lie to Dumbledore compared to Sirius and Professor Lupin.

"Ah, yes, that's happened to me once or twice before. Severus hasn't been too forthcoming with your Occlumency lessons, are things going well?" Harry shrugged, not wanting to admit that they hadn't been happening for a few weeks now. He was ashamed of what he saw.

"Why did I go into Snape's pensive anyway? This whole disaster wouldn't have happened if I weren't such an idiot! It's like that stupid quote about the curious cat, I mucked up my chances of getting Voldemort out of my head" He moaned inwardly. He nodded and shrugged to the conversation a bit more while he beat himself up for his stupidity. Suddenly he vaguely heard Dumbledore ask if he was allowed to enter his mind, and he felt himself nodding yes. "No!" He screamed at himself, he didn't want Dumbledore to find out about Mum and Dad.

He pushed his vague memories of Mu-Lily and James death in front, focusing only on the green light. He was a baby, young, and his mom was trying to protect him, but she died because of him, because even as a baby he was a freak. The memories started to flicker, Dursleys yelling at him, Dudley punching him, teachers disappointed at him, Malfoy mocking him, Snape throwing that jar at him, always at him, it wasn't fair, he was such a freak…he fought for control as everything started to swirl, black wind whipping around him, and Dumbledore was so close to the memory of Mum and Dad and he felt himself breaking apart, the seams of the memories tearing, and he couldn't hold on to it and he just wanted to screa-and it stopped.

Suddenly it was white, pure white, and he knew he had somehow cleared his mind. He calmly showed Dumbledore what he wanted him to see, nothing more. Twisted the memories Dumbledore did see into an incoherent blur, because he could never know the truth. Knowing that he had no control over Voldemort's visions, as they were from a different section of his mind, a hellish black hole of dark magic. He knew he was safe, as long as he was there. He saw Mum, and he waved, and she beamed happily at him. Everything was all right if she loved him. He sighed as Dumbledore retreated from his mind; he had to go back to the real world now.

He was yanked back into reality, and suddenly he felt exhausted. He yawned sleepily as he dozed off in the chair, and he knew this was the coward's way out of answering more questions. He drifted dreamily as he listened to the whispers of Dumbledore and Lupin, and eventually Sirius. Something about Hogwarts, and odd minds? He didn't really know, all he knew was that he found himself in his dorm bed in the morning, and nobody found out the truth of what happened earlier.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He thought he had been doing better. It was the end of the school year, and he hadn't had one of these incidents at all. Every once in a while he would think he would see Mum or Dad, but he would blink and she was gone. And sometimes he would just fade in and out of conversations, but it was probably more to do with lack of sleep then anything. Yet the day that he went to the Ministry of Magic, he wasn't there at all. Well, he was there, physically at least. But Harry felt like he was watching the whole day through a pair of foggy glasses. He knew what was happening. He could see himself talking; he could see his voice begging, trying to convince the DA members not to follow him on his quest to save Sirius. He didn't want anybody to die for his own selfishness. He was only slightly more aware with the Thestrals, the gloomy horse-like creature's magic absorbing some of the numbness. The wind against his face, he let himself enjoy the ride, avoiding the inevitable landing. When he had to leap off of the Threstral however, he was back to being stuck behind the looking glass.

Stuck, he curled up within himself as he watched the events unfold. They went to the ministry, and they failed, miserably. Dumbledore came, and he saved the day, but Sirius was gone. Sucked into a dark hole, it left him with a hole of his own. He was gone, and all Harry could do was avoid the pain, not look at the ugly bleeding wound that was sure to corrupt him if he looked hard enough. His friends were hurt, Sirius died, because of him. All of this because of his stupidity.

He knew he was speaking, he knew that he was fighting Bellatrix, even used Crucio against the bitch, but it was like it was another him. Harry watched himself fight tirelessly, struggling to get back in. He shivered, what was wrong with him? Was his mind breaking? And then a searing pain erupted, as Voldemort slashed through his feeble defenses, his bloody claws ravaging through his mind. He screamed in agony, clawing desperately at his head to make this bastard get out of there. Tears mixed with sweat and blood as he forced all his magic against Voldemort; digging into his mind for any power he could to fight this monster. Harry heard a sound crack, deep within himself, before he screamed even louder. His throat was filled with blood, and he coughed as he screamed in terror. Dizzy, his body swayed as he fought for control, ultimately failing. He collapsed, arm digging into the stone statue. He could hear a faint buzzing in his ears, prickling, and he knew he didn't have long. Struggling for something to hold on, he remembered Mum, and begged that he could join her, join her and Dad an-and Sirius. Nothing, nothing is worth this. And suddenly it stopped. He couldn't hear anything, just the sound of his ragged breathing. He knew he wasn't dead, but he didn't know how long he had left. He slowly turned his weary head, blearily looking at the blood gushing from his broken arm.

"At least it wasn't my wand arm." He thought tiredly, his vision blackening. He prayed for his Mum to hold him as he passed out.

It could have been hours or days that he was out, but it all felt like a black second before Harry opened his eyes. The bright white room made him squint unhappily as he looked around, trying to figure out where he was.

"Ah, you're awake! It's about time, you've been out for three days now." Madame Pomfrey said as she dimmed the lights in the room.

"T-three days? Wow, um…what happened?" Harry said blearily, and tried to lift his arms to rub his eyes. One arm complied, while the other one stayed put. Madame Pomfrey shook her head briskly, as she cast some more spells on him.

"Don't fight it, you need your rest. Your left arm suffered a lot of damage; I had to Bind it temporarily until it heals a bit more. But you will heal completely, as long at you stay put!" She said firmly as she bustled around the room. He struggled to keep his eyes open, and ultimately failed as he involuntarily closed his eyes again.

When he woke up, Dumbledore was in the room. His eyes were twinkling madly, and Harry didn't know what he was so happy about. He almost died, due to his own stupidity.

"I've talked to Madame Pomfrey, and though she would rather you not be moved at all, she has agreed to allow us to meet in my office for a chat. She is having a rest in her office right now, so let's be quiet, shall we?" Dumbledore said as he propped Harry up. Harry shakily took a few steps, and the floor seemed to sway. "We'll just take the Floo here and back, you won't have to move too far at all. Madame Pomfrey has a Floo and some Floo Powder in the neighbouring room." Harry nodded numbly, as he was forced to lean into Dumbledore for support. His legs felt wobbly as they walked into the room and towards the fireplace. Dumbledore threw the powder in and whispered "Dumbledore's office" in the green flame. When they stepped into the fire, the Floo felt a lot calmer then the last time he had experienced, just a mild swirling sensation. Nevertheless, he felt exhausted when he landed softly into the office. Harry sat down, still not speaking a word to Dumbledore. He felt angry, but yet so cold, like his blood was chilled. He stared blankly on the floor, not quite believing what happened. He was-was-Harry couldn't even think it, not when he just saw him, not when he can still faintly hear his laugh. It just wasn't possible.

"I know how you feel." Dumbledore said quietly, and Harry could feel him watching him intently. He shook his head lightly, not really want to think about it at all.

"There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry." Dumbledore said softly. Harry merely shrugged, not sure how to respond to that. He just wanted to hide, not feel anything right now.

"Harry, you can't let this fester within you. I know you're feeling a lot of pain right now. It's one of your greatest strengths, your ability to feel." Harry started shaking, only slightly, but he knew that Dumbledore could see it.

"I don't want to talk about it." He muttered tiredly, trying so hard to push it away.

"Suffering is what makes us human, what makes you a man!" Dumbledore said firmly. Harry looked up for a split second and his eyes were glittering fiercely.

"Then I don't want to be human." Harry whispered, almost to himself, but Dumbledore heard him anyway.

"Yes you do. And you need to let yourself feel Harry, you care deeply about Sirius, you care immensely that he's gone." Harry's shaking grew worse, but he still didn't feel much of anything. The angry he initially felt towards Dumbledore was dimming, replaced by a gut-wrenching numbness.

"I don't care." Harry said in a monotone voice. "I don't think feeling is my greatest strength anymore. I've just had enough." His voice catched on the last sentence, he didn't mean to say that.

"It will take some time Harry, but it will get better." Dumbledore said softly, and Harry knew that he truly believed that. He didn't really believe it himself though, he didn't even remember his parents and they were still haunting him. "I'm sorry about Sirius. It is my fault that he's gone. Though I cannot take full responsibility for his death, I should share the majority of it. A man such as Sirius would never have stayed home while his loved ones were in danger, no matter the risk. And I should have been more open with you. I had known that Voldemort might lure you in.

"May I go back to the Hospital Wing?" Harry asked as soon as the man was finished with his spiel. He felt himself distance from the conversation, wanting it to end before the numbness consumed him entirely. Dumbledore shook his head sadly though, and Harry's shoulders slumped.

"No Harry, I'm not finished yet. I know you're tired, but this conversation should have happened years ago." Harry nodded, but inside he wasn't really there anymore. He had retreated within himself. This was the first time Harry had forced himself away at least somewhat willingly, and it would have scared him if he weren't so numb. Dumbledore then told him the prophecy, the words having very little meaning to him. He knew he should be scared, angry, something. But it was like he had built up a wall against it, the emotions swirling away from him. Some time later, he found himself back in the hospital wing, the conversation he just had a meaningless jumble of words.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It was the last night before everybody went home for the summer holidays, and Harry was getting tired of being stuck in the Hospital Wing. Madame Pomfrey was struggling to figure out a way keep the arm magically contained while making as Muggle-friendly as possible for his relatives, so she was in and out taking measurements and muttering odd things to herself.

He didn't know how much he wanted to be in his dorm anyway, as restless as he felt. His friends would come for short visits, before he feinted sleep to keep them away. He just didn't want to talk about Sirius, or see their pitying eyes. Sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he could see Sirius, but when he turned to look, he was gone. He couldn't blame it on sleeplessness, as the medication he was on for his arm was making him quite drowsy. He hadn't had any visions either to rattle with his head, though he kept on hearing Sirius's bark-like laughter when he was just waking up.

"It's probably just my mind playing tricks on me." Harry said to himself as he shakily sat himself up and went to the washroom. As he was washing his hands however, he saw something weird in the mirror. He could see his face, but instead of his emerald green eyes, they were a musty hazel. Looking closer, he could see that the face was older, more angular then his own. Harry shook his head forcefully, hoping that he was just imagining things. But the face glared at him, clearly not his own.

"Dad?" He whispered softly into the mirror, and he reached towards the face with his free hand. But he shook his head in disgust, and flinched away from the touch. He started to fade away, and tears ran down Harry's face. "Don't leave me!" He cried out, but now all he could see was his own face.

"Harry, are you alright in there? I heard some screaming." Harry was so startled by the voice, he fell forward and his nose hit the sink, making a loud thunk and cracking noise. Madame Pomfrey rushed into the bathroom, and Harry was thankful he was fully dressed. She helped him up, pinching the heavily bleeding nose.

"I sowee Ma-um Pomfee, I-" Harry tried to say, but was interrupted by the concerned Mediwitch.

"It's alright, you just have a broken nose. Accidents happen, you just seem to have more then the typical child." She shook her head lightly before speaking again. "Let's get you back into the bed and heal this right up!" She marched Harry out of the washroom and settled him back into the hospital bed.

"Do I 'eed Skelegro-?" Harry asked, but was once again interrupted by Madame Pomfrey as she fumbled around for her wand.

"No, no, not for a simple break like this. We're out of-Ah, here it is! Now stay still, the nose is a tricky body part to heal." Harry forced himself to stay put as Madame Pomfrey spelled his nose.

"There you go, now get some sleep young man! It's getting late." She shook her head as she left the room, presumably to sleep herself. Harry rubbed his nose wearily, making sure he didn't have a crooked nose like Snape. Satisfied, his eyes started to droop, and he was just about to fall asleep when he heard loud whispers.

"Ow! Don't shove me like that!"

"How could you Ron, you woke him up!"

"But Hermione, you were the one who wanted to-"

"We could have talked to him on the train!"

"But you said we shouldn't wait-"

"Guys, take off the cloak, I'm awake." Harry said tiredly, not wanting to hear another war with his two friends.

"Sorry Harry!" Ron exclaimed, as Hermione shushed him.

"Madame Pomfrey just left the room Ron, do you want to get caught?" Hermione hissed. Ron just shook his head and glared at the bushy haired girl. "So Harry, how are you doing? You've been in the Hospital Wing for a long time, and we've been worried." Hermione asked softly, her bright brown eyes glittering slightly even in the darkness.

"I was asleep for a while, and it seems like Skelegrow won't work with my arm this time. Dunno why, Madame Pomfrey wouldn't explain. So it's going to take a while for it to heal right. It doesn't really hurt though, so it's fine." Harry shrugged; nothing really felt fine right now. If he could just pretend everything was fine though, maybe the world would stop tilting and this numbness would just disappear…

"That's odd, you've only used Skelegrow once. Usually it's around ten or so applications before the effectiveness starts to slow and doses get to toxic levels." Hermione muttered to herself, and Harry could see her just interrogating Madame Pomfrey with a bunch of medical textbooks flying around her.

"Hermione, Madame Pomfrey knows what she's doing. It was probably just a really bad break or something. Besides, that's not why we came up here. Not that I really agree with you, but…" Ron scratched his head, looking uncomfortable. Hermione's gaze darkened, a shaky smile on her face.

"I guess I was just avoiding the issue, but we're running out of time." Hermione whispered, looking down at her shoes. "I just want to know how you're dealing with Sirius's death, I mean, we haven't really seen you-"

"Madame Pomfrey has been keeping this place in complete lockdown!" Harry nearly laughed at the expression on Ron's face after Hermione smacked him on the back of his head.

"He looks like a whipped puppy or something." He thought to himself with a small smile. Then he remembered Padfoot running around as a dog, puppy eyes staring at him, and the numbness set in again, forcing him to think of anything else besides Sirius.

"Ron! She just wants him to feel better, and maybe some time away from us did him some good, processing S-his death. We just know Sirius was, was rather important to you and-" Hermione was at a loss for words, which Harry found odd. Maybe he should be crying or feeling something besides this sickening nothing.

"I'm fine." Harry said, his eyes focused on the ceiling. Why was there a small rusty red stain above the bed? Was that blood? Whose blood was it?

"But Harry-"

"I'm tired guys, can we talk about this later?" Harry thought never, but they didn't know that. He just wanted to stare at nothing and pretend that his stomach wasn't twisting in knots and his vision was turning blurry.

"We'll talk on the train I guess, but Harry, you can't avoid this." Hermione whispered sadly, while Ron gave her an 'I told you so' type look.

"I'll get her off your case for you Harry." Ron whispered quickly as Hermione peeked outside to make sure nobody was walking by. "You need some time, not all that bloody nagging-"

"RON!" Hermione yelled, and Harry thought he could hear some footsteps.

"Just go guys, before you get caught." Harry shook his head as they hurriedly got back under the cloak and rushed off. Not really cares whose footsteps or what was going on with his friends, he closed his eyes for the night.


	4. Chapter 4

I've been a bit down lately, so writing has been a struggle. At least it helped with the tone of the story I think.

The mirror isn't broken, since Harry hasn't felt anything besides numbness, so he wouldn't have reason to smash the mirror like he did in canon. Just to make it clear, since I've been trying to keep this story canon-compliant (for now).

Chapter 4

Harry sat in the back seat, feeling nothing. He felt nothing as Dudley pinched and prodded him, nothing as Uncle Vernon muttered insults about bossy no-good freaks and nothing when he noticed Aunt Petunia just staring at him coldly with those ghostly blue eyes of hers. It was hard to feel when everything felt unreal, when he put his hand on the glass window and he couldn't feel the pane up against his hand. He stared at his hand, looking at the crisscross of lines swimming around his hand. Was it even real?

"The freak's being freaky! Make him stop!" Dudley wailed to his father as Harry started to pound the window with his palm, trying to see if it was his hand or the window that was the problem

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon screamed something else, but Harry couldn't process it. The window wasn't working right, or something else was wrong. A small sliver of panic rose when he saw a crack form across the window, but it almost wasn't his own emotion, like he could feel somebody else's fear.

"Stop doing that freak, you're going to break the window! Dudders, grab him!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, and Dudley attempted to grab his arm. But the last smack to the window shattered it, most of the shards of glass flying out onto the motorway. But a few shards were embedded in his hand. Harry focused on the sharp throbbing pain coursing up his arm. It was real. He was real. He didn't hear Aunt Petunia's screaming, Dudley's crying, or his Uncle's curses; he just focused on the one thing that made sense. Pain.

The car stopped after a while of him looking at his bloody hand, and he felt his Uncle drag him to the second bedroom. He sagged on the floor and blearily looked up at Uncle Vernon. Those beady eyes had a lot more fear in them then rage, and he knew he was safe. He heard the locks go up, and he sighed in relief. Lockdown then. He could deal with that. He clenched his fist, feeling the glass dig in his flesh. Empty tears ran down his face as he stared at his hand, the salty drops stinging as they fell onto the wounds.

Knock. A slight moment of hesitance, then another knock. Harry sighed softly as the door opened. Aunt Petunia came in and knelt down next to him. She seemed less bitter and angry then normal, her lips in a grim purse as she grabbed his hand. He looked blankly as she pulled the glass out of his hand and wrapped it up with some bandages. She eyed his other arm, bound in a sling, but didn't say anything about it.

"Just-just stay in here for a while. Something is wrong with you, and I don't really care what it is. Just don't make a big mess in here, and just deal with it. We'll keep the door unlocked during the night for when you need to go to the washroom, and I won't tell Uncle Vernon if you make an extra sandwich then. I don't want them to complain about you being too skinny. We soundproofed the room so we can't hear your screaming. You can just tell your people we treated you fine, and we'll leave you alone." The loathing in her voice was minimal, and Harry wondered if she was trying to be civil or was just too scared to hate him. He couldn't really bring himself to care, so he just nodded and looked away. She said nothing else as she slammed the door shut, and he watched the light above him flicker in and out of existence.

"I wish-" He started to whisper into the empty room, but he couldn't figure out what he needed, what thing would take away the dull emptiness that ached every time he breathed.

A few days passed in a dull haze, only interrupted to eat the food slipped in the cat flap and the occasional late night washroom break. The Dursleys didn't bother to take away his trunk, whether they were just scared of him or just wanted to be semi-nice to him he wasn't sure. He knew that he should do his homework, before the Dursleys got over whatever was going over them and took away his stuff, but he just didn't have the energy or care. He would sometimes just hold on to the mirror Sirius gave him what seemed to be so long ago, brushing softly again the smooth glass. He just hoped he would see something besides his own tired green eyes. If he stared long enough, he would see a flicker of angry hazel, or teary emerald eyes that weren't his own. But he never saw a flash of grey, which was what he wanted to see the most.

He heard a tapping on the window, and he turned his gaze away from the mirror. Slowly getting up, he nearly smiled at the snowy white owl hooting in the cold night for his attention. The sharp nips to his fingers as he greeted her told him that she was out at the window for quite a long time.

"Sorry Hedwig, I didn't mean to ignore you." Luckily, she at least somewhat understood that something wasn't right, giving a few sorrowful hoots before nudging at the pile of letters she brought. He shook his head softly, knowing he should write something back but not wanting to read all the letters. He fed a treat to Hedwig, wondering how he could get away with pretending to be fine when he really was nowhere close to okay. Hedwig was staring at him, her golden yellow eyes looking as worried as a bird's really could. He picked at a peeling part of the sling subconsciously, looking between the bird and the letters.

"Hedwig, can't you just send them back? I don't really want to deal with this right now." He said softly, looking nervously between her and the letters. Hedwig merely began to preen her feathers, clearly ignoring his request. Harry picked up the letters, his anxiety caught in his throat.

Delaying the inevitable, he rummaged through his trunk for writing supplies. The parchment and quill in one hand, inkpot in the other, he started walking over towards the desk when he tripped over a fold in the rug. Unable to balance like he might normally would, the small trip was enough to knock him over. His vision was blackened as a gurgle of ink splattered all over the room. Heart thumping, he wiped his glasses on an ink-free spot on his shirt, hoping he could at least see the damage his accident caused. Through his smudged sight, he could tell that the damage was mostly on him and the rug. It was a stupid rug anyway, some tacky thing that Aunt Marge passed off to the Dursleys. But it didn't matter what it was, if he ruined it, he would get in trouble for it.

Adrenaline set in as Harry rushed to find a towel the Dursleys wouldn't miss. One faded beach towel and a trip to the sink later, he nearly ran into his bedroom to clean it before it became too stained. As he frantically rubbed at the mess with his one accessible hand, he barely noticed as glass cut and grazed his skin. All he could focus on was making the rug clean again. Suddenly, particularly sharp piece lashed through his skin, causing a deep red to mix with the murky grey puddle. His breath caught as the pain registered, feeling slightly calmer then before.

"It's sure better then feeling nothing." Harry muttered as he stared at the bleeding gash. Slowly standing up, he carefully yanked the rug from beneath the desk and rolled it up, trying to make sure no ink got onto the floor itself. A part of him was completely fascinated how the throbbing pain felt up against the rough texture of the rug's underside. The other part of him was screaming how fucked up he was for liking it. The bleeding subsided as he took the rug out to the trash, and by the time he was back in his bedroom again, the wound was starting to scab over. He sighed as he removed the ink and blood stained clothing. Nothing he could do now, he was in trouble whether he wanted to be or not. When he was down to his briefs, he flopped onto the creaky bed and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding in.

"Girl, I'll reply in the morning or something, I'm not up for it tonight." He tiredly said, barely hearing a hoot in response. The small resemblance of peace he felt turned to a familiar numbness as he drifted off into sleep.


End file.
